The Little Sparrow
by LoveInChains
Summary: Aveline Trevelyan. Born to the noble house of the same name in Ostwick, highly regarded across the Free Marches for producing perhaps some of the most dedicated Templars and Chantry Sisters in all of Orlais. Her parents and the rest of her family had high hopes. To the house of Trevelyan, she was to be the perfect heir, their stepping stone to better things. Until it all changed.
1. Prologue

**The Little Sparrow**

**Prologue**

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><p>A young maiden walks through a courtyard, all around her are cobblestone walls she's lived behind for most of her life. With trellis's strewn high with roses and tall marble statues that greet her as she passes, she loves it here. She always has. Drawn to the flowers that surround her she reaches out to them, smiling faintly at the soft, silky, touch of their petals. A feeling that has always comforted her, made her feel at peace. The sound of metal moving catches her attention briefly. She looks up at the guards watching her, never changing, never shifting. Gently, she waves at them. Some nod back at her in greeting, others remain almost as still as the statues in the garden.<p>

For years, she's walked this same path. Each step she takes, watched with the utmost scrutiny. She rises in the morning at the break of dawn, comes down the corridor, retrieves breakfast from one of the servants, steps out into the courtyard, greets the guards, and heads out into the gardens for her studies. Her days never changing, sedimentary, always controlled and monitored to a point where even taking a step off the beaten path would cause the others around her to worry. For fear to arise. Which is why she's never strayed. Never stepped from the path she's meant to walk. Perhaps others would deem the constraints of her life to be too harsh, but not she.

She happily lives the life she's been given. Not everyone has had the same blessings as she. Being born into a noble family granted her certain niceties and commodities that plenty would kill to have within their grasp. Never mind that she never leaves except to accompany her parents to parties they often attend across the Free Marches. They have to keep up appearances, they've always told themselves. If they were to hide their daughter away completely, it would just make the other nobles suspicious. Make them question the lie. And that would possibly be worse than the truth.

Still, smiling to herself, she comes to the gardens. Her absolute favourite place in all of Orlais. She used to live outside of the manor, in Ostwick, with her parents. They decided that it was best for her to learn in Kirkwall, where the guards are better trained to handle any mishaps. The guards she'd grown up with insisted she was more than capable to remain under their care, that was the first like she caught her parents in. The nobles of the Trevelyan house weren't so much concerned with her safety as they were with appearances. Her "talents" could not be known to the other noble families. They would never allow that under pain of death.

Nevertheless, she's glad for it. Sitting down at the edge of one of the many fountains, she inhales the innocent scent that morning brings and relaxes for a moment. She spent much of her childhood playing with the dogs by the fountains and the roses such as those around her. No matter what was going on in her life, the gardens always made her feel as if none of it mattered, none of her hardships could worry her. It made continuing on much less difficult. Made her feel more at home than anything else.

"I have to ask, do you ever arrive to your lessons on time?" Someone asks suddenly from behind her.

Turning, the young maiden smiles brightly. It's one of her servants, her closest friend. Someone who's been with her since she was very small. Since Ostwick, before it all changed. A young Dalish elf by the name of Vera.

"I try," she starts, standing up and smoothing out her gown, "but how do they expect me to get any work done surrounded by such beauty?"

"From what I remember, you're the one who asked to have the lessons out in the gardens." Vera counters, giving the maiden a knowing look with a hand on her hip.

Quietly, she chuckles. "Fair enough. Though you can't blame me for wanting to linger."

"True, I cannot." The servant laments, shaking her head and gesturing down the path. "Come, the First Enchantress does _not_ like to be kept waiting, da'len. And she's waited long enough."

Nodding, the young maiden smooth's out her dress one last time and leads the way as she ventures further into the gardens, allowing herself a moment's breath before her day truly begins. Hours of practice, hours of scrutiny, hours of fear, hours of whispers behind her, hours in a cage she'll never be allowed to escape. Seeing the First Enchantress sitting calmly on a stone bench with a book in her lap, she smiles; accepting that her life as a prisoner will be all she'll ever know.


	2. Chapter I

**The Little Sparrow**

**Chapter I**

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><p><em>Searing white hot pain. Erupting from a single point and creeping through her entire being. Pure unadulterated agony. Branching out and pulsing stronger with each beat of her heart. Crippling fear. Racking her with every breath. Dread. Consuming her body and soul. Hopelessness. The last thing she feels.<em>

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><p>No one knew what happened, no one thought it was possible. It was a chance for peace. A chance for the rebellion to end and for countless lives to be saved. A chance for hope to be restored across all of Thedas. Instead, it only ended in more death and chaos. Ripping open the Veil and causing demons to spill out from the Fade. Causing an explosion that obliterated the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Many have to wonder; <em>If only I'd been there, could I have stopped it?<em> _Could I have prevented this? Would most Holy still be alive?_

Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast thought this more than most. She was the Right Hand of the Divine. Her death shook her more than she cared to admit. Desperately she wanted to know what happened, she would do _anything_ to know, but she knew that if she acted in her current state of mind, things could end up worse than they already were.

She was pacing in front of a cell in that moment, wondering what course of action she should take. From time to time, she peered into the iron cage, regarding the elven apostate crouched over the prisoner, gently moving a hand over her face, her chest, her hand. She couldn't help but snarl. Cassandra didn't want to _coddle_ the thing. She wanted to learn what happened, and she would do anything to extract the information from the mage. Anything.

"Please, Seeker, your aura is only making her worse." The apostate pled, peering over his shoulder slightly before returning to his charge who'd started to squirm uncomfortably.

"I do not _care_ if my presence makes her worse, Solas." Cassandra sneered vehemently. "She's the only one to survive the Conclave. For all we know, she is the one responsible for this! She must be interrogated, brought to justice! Not nursed back to health!"

Solas stood slowly and sighed. "You truly hold mages in high regard, if you believe us powerful enough to rip open the Veil."

"I recognise their power." She continued in distaste. "And I know that only magic could cause such chaos. You can understand my hesitation."

The apostate wasn't pleased with the Seeker's course of action, but he bowed his head to her in a slight defeat. "Let her rest." He insisted. "She will wake, and when that happens you can question her to the fullest extent of your ability."

"If we wake her now then I can do just that but much quicker." Cassandra growled slightly.

"I promise you, Cassandra, she will not wake just because you or I wish it." He persisted, motioning towards the stairs. "Now, I will continue to watch over her. I will make sure the mark does no harm to us."

The Seeker did not appreciate being dismissed. Still, she allowed it. "Fine. If I return and she hasn't awaken or you haven't made any progress in deciphering that mark, I can assure you a headman's block will be in your future."

She then left the cells in a huff, somewhat regretting the threats she'd spat at the apostate helping her. But remaining near the prisoner was clouding her mind. She saw nothing but Divine Justinia's murderer, a mage who'd managed to rip open the Fade, someone who could've possibly brought doom upon all of Thedas. If she stayed a moment longer, she couldn't promise that she wouldn't do something regrettable.

And yet, the prisoner was none of the things the Seeker thought her to be. She was a simple girl from simple Ostwick, attending the Conclave after her own Circle shattered in the hopes to prevent the rest of her friends from being cut down by templar's. They did not choose to become apostates, it was forced upon them and she wanted the Order to see that. And instead, she was convulsing on a blanket in a cold cell, completely unaware of what was happening around her, of what _had _happened days earlier.

_"Bring forth the sacrifice."_

Her face tensed up from the brief images flashing across her eyelids. Another wave of pain shot through her, causing her to call out in her sleep. Solas quickly returned his attention to her, wetting a cloth and carrying it to her side. Gently he wiped off the sweat accumulating on her brow, wondering how else he could help her. Her mark wasn't responding to his magic, perhaps her own was protecting her from him, he couldn't ease her pain. He could only help to prevent the mark from spreading, from creeping up her arm until its power strangled her and left her for dead.

_"Someone, help me!"_

More fragments, more segments of memory that never really took root in the prisoner's mind. They tormented her as she slept, preventing her from finding even the briefest moment of peace. Between the nightmares of being swarmed by spiders and the pulsing pain of the mark, she'd never known such fear, not since her Harrowing.

_She's in Kirkwall when it happens. The deciding moment for her as an Apprentice. Her Harrowing. A ritual in which she'll either prevail, and rise to the rank of Mage, or fail, and she did not wish to think of what would become of her if she did not succeed. Every guard is present, every precaution taken. Everything has been prepared. She sits still in front of a mirror, wishing Vera could be there with her. Though knowing it's impossible to wish for such things. She knows that in the Tower, in the Fade, she will be alone._

_"Come, my child. It is time."_

_Hesitantly, she stands. Her hands are shaking beyond belief. Beneath her skin she can feel the beat of her heart, it racks her with every pulse. Almost breaking her resolve as she looks up in the mirror, blue eyes practically crying out in fear. Begging her to run, to flee. Apprentices are never told what happens during the Harrowing. But she can recall several times her friends have gone up to the tower and were never to be seen again. The fear she feels is not unwarranted._

_Clenching her fists, she's decided that it's time. That she cannot dwell on the past, or on her future, how short it may be. Strong, she turns towards her teacher, First Enchantress Lynette. Someone who's been with her since she was just a small girl, no older than six years. Someone she can trust beyond all doubt. The enchantress reaches a hand towards her, willing to lead yet another of her disciples into the fire. Not that either of them have much of a choice. They gently lace fingers and leave the young maiden's quarters behind._

_They walk quietly, not able to speak to one another. The maiden, she isn't the strongest of the Apprentices waiting for their own Harrowing, there is not contest. She doesn't like violence, never has. Her talents lie in healing magic, in protecting others. No matter how long she trained for this moment, she'll never be ready. Whatever will happen to her in the Fade, she is sure that she will fail. When the First Enchantress announced her name earlier that month, she knew that she wouldn't be able to see her parents again. Never again will she gaze upon Ostwick and recall more childish things, be twirled around a dance floor by young Dukes vying for her attetion. She smiles weakly. Reluctant as she seems, she's come to terms with it. Her life ends today and there isn't anything she can do to change that._

_Approaching the Tower, she wonders where the time's gone. She finds herself unable to breath for a moment, unable to look back at the world she's leaving behind. Sensing her worry, her distress, Lynette holds her face in her hands, gently stroking her cheeks as tears begin pooling from the maiden's eyes._

_"I promise you, you_ are _ready for this." The enchantress encourages her student, reaching a hand to stroke her hair and soother her as best she can._

_The maiden chokes out a sob, unable to contain it any longer. "I'm not a fighter. You know this, they know this. I'm completely inept at every sort of offensive magic there is! What hope do I possibly have?"_

_Lynette gently pulls her student towards her, planting a small kiss to her hairline and lingering a moment. "My child, not all strength is measured the same way. Of course your peers can cast fire and ice from their fingertips with ease, but you do not need to think yourself lesser because you cannot. You must only remember to steel your heart, remain firm, do not let anything you see-"_

_"That is enough." Someone chastises from behind the two women. It is the Knight-Captain. "You've told her more than she needs to know. I will escort her from here."_

_The enchantress gives her student's hand a firm squeeze. "I will see you when this is over."_

_She wishes to respond, but the Knight-Captain is already ushering her inside. Struggling slightly, she peers back over her shoulder, desperate to get one final look at the last friendly face she'll see, but the door closes behind them almost immediately. She's truly alone. Even with a hand on her back, she knows she's alone. Though she knows that there is one more thing she can do, she can continue to listen to her teacher. With determination, she faces back around and steels herself for what is to come. If she is to die, she decides she will do so with honor. With every ounce of fight she can give._

_Too soon they come to the top of the stairs. Too soon she's surrounded by templars. Too soon she's brought to her grave. In front of her is a bowl fixed on a pedestal, its contents glowing with an odd chilling aura. She finds herself drawn to it, though she refuses to move from her spot until ordered to. Everyone around her is stiff, still, ready to strike, as they always are. It does nothing to ease her, but she doesn't let that break her. She is a Trevelyan. If all else fails, she will not waver._

_Again she feels pressure on her back so she steps forward towards the pedestal. The Knight-Captain leaves her to complete the circle of Templars around her. All poised to strike her down. She inhales deeply, feeling a wetness accumulating at the corners of her eyes, a lump forming in her throat. Desperately, she swallows. Looking up to the ceiling and hoping that it will be quick._

_"This is lyrium." A templar explains, motioning to the liquid in front of her. "You will enter the Fade, encounter a demon, fail to overcome it or if you linger for too long, we will kill you where you stand. Is that understood?"_

_She nods slowly, feeling more wetness streaking her face. "Yes."_

_"Good." He agrees, turning away from her and rejoining the circle._

_"Please do not let Lynette see me after this is all over." She adds solemnly, staring at the pool in front of her. "She had so many hopes for me, I'd hate to disappoint her."_

_Without waiting for a response, she takes one last breath, reaching for the lyrium, it coats her hand and she feels everything changing. She feels as if she's being drained dry, being forced apart, although compressing at the same time. Entering the Fade has proved to be like nothing she's ever experienced before. She squeezes her eyes tight, ignoring everything else around her, praying that Vera won't miss her too much, and plunging in._

Andraste guide me.

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><p><strong>Author's Note: Obviously this last part is familiar to those who've read this before. I've decided to turn this into a full fledged story. Made it more story oriented. Will probably only address main missions and companion missions or anything else you want to see in the future. We'll see though! xoxo, Momma Love<strong>


	3. Chapter II

**The Little Sparrow**

**Chapter II**

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><p><em>A lump in her throat. Dry, crackling, pain. She struggles to breath. Gasping, choking, strangling, it hurts. She can't open her eyes, she can't decipher her thoughts; nothing makes sense. Her chest feels as if it's being constricted, like every breath is being forced out of her as soon as she catches hold of it. Her skin feels tight against her bones, she tries to reach her throat, to claw away the pain, but she can't move. She can't do anything.<em>

* * *

><p>She opened her eyes suddenly, sitting up and gasping for breath. Ripped from a nightmare she couldn't quite recall. With a hand clutched to her chest, sweat pouring from her brow, she barely registered the figure advancing towards her with water. Her mind was too much in a fog, she was too unhinged. And rightfully so. Once her caretaker was within reach, he tried to speak calmly to her.<p>

"Be still, you are safe." He tried to placate her, holding out the glass.

Looking up, startled, he could tell she was beyond terrified. Not that he felt he could blame her. Apart from the mark on her hand threatening to overtake her, and waking up in a cell she had no memory of entering, she had her hands bound in front of her, and there was a man whom she didn't know hovering over her. Anyone with enough sense about them could sense the dangers.

"Where am I?" She stammered slightly, shaking and staring down at her restraints, clenching her fists and relaxing them once more.

Gently and slowly, he sat down beside her. "You are at the Chantry in Haven, my name is Solas."

"Aveline." She offered, processing the information for a moment, she nodded, and muttered almost incoherently, panicked, "The Temple of Sacred Ashes… the Conclave…"

"Yes, you were there." He continued, further informing her with a calming tone.

Surprisingly, she chuckled slightly. "I take it that negotiations didn't go as planned."

_She truly doesn't remember_. The apostate thought, forcing his composure and handing her the glass of water once more. "That is putting it mildly, but you're bound to learn the truth-"

Suddenly, she cried out in pain, bending over and clutching her left hand. The mark was growing, Solas knew that much, quickly he set down the glass and reached for her. He rolled up her sleeve to see that it was slowly crawling up her arm, pulsing, glowing green and causing her immense pain. That only meant that more rifts were appearing in the world. Gently he raised his hand over the mark, trying to stop the mark from growing any further. Soon, though, he felt that he could no longer help. That the mark would grow faster than he could stop it.

"What-" She gasped, breathless, pain evident in her voice. "What _is_ this?"

Carefully, he sighed, never ceasing the spell. "That was something we hoped you could tell us."

"Yes, it is."

Solas and Aveline looked up to see who was addressing them. It was a soldier. The apostate finished the spell and gave his charge a look she could only decipher as one of caution as he stood, approaching the cell door.

"You're to go out into the Valley and aid the others. Seeker Cassandra's orders." She instructed him, her tone harsh and commanding.

"Of course." He agreed wholeheartedly, bowing a bit as she unlocked the door.

Quietly, the apostate left the dungeons, leaving the prisoner alone with someone who would be more than happy to end her life in that moment. She swallowed past a lump in her throat, looking down at the mark on her hand, invisible to the naked eye until it reared its ugly head, before looking back up to the soldier.

"What am I doing here?" She asked as confidently as she could manage.

"Silence." The soldier commanded, nodding to one of her associates to retrieve the prisoner. "You will tell Seeker Cassandra everything you remember about the Temple of Sacred Ashes, and then they will determine what's to happen to you."

As her cell door opened, her breath hitched in her throat. The soldier's armor bore the insignia of the Templar Order. Ever since the rebellion broke out she'd slain a few more of the Order than she would've liked, by no choice of her own. They'd chased her across Ostwick, deep into the Free Marches, before she crossed into Fereldon, intending to seek refuge with Grand Enchanter Fiona at Redcliffe's castle until she heard talks of a Conclave to restore the peace. It was her plan to attend, talk some sense into anyone rational enough to listen.

And because of that decision, this is the fate she was left with. To be slain or to be made Tranquil.

They took her roughly by the arm and pulled her up, almost dragging her out the door before she was able to solidify her footing. Without hesitation she was promptly pushed forward before she was forced to her knees and her rope restraints were replaced with something far more secure. Iron shackles.

Suddenly, the door opened and a Seeker of Truth entered the midst along with another woman bearing the crest of the Chantry. The prisoner could only assume that one of them was Cassandra. And neither of them looked too pleased by her presence.

"What happened at the Conclave." She was asked suddenly by the Seeker.

"I-I don't remember." Aveline admitted, trying not to notice the swords aimed directly at her.

"Then tell me why we shouldn't kill you now." The Seeker asked, taunting her, circling her. "The Conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead. Except for you."

Hearing that, she couldn't believe her ears. "What do you mean everyone's dead?"

The Seeker ignored her question, instead grabbing her wrist and raising it. "Explain _this_."

_The mark_. Aveline thought before stammering, "I-I can't!"

"What do you mean you _can't!_" The Seeker persisted, growing angrier and harsher with each word.

"I don't know what that is, or how it got there, I swear!" She insisted, desperately.

Grabbing hold of her collar and shouting, "You're lying!" The Seeker looked ready to rip off her captive's head. And no one would put it past her.

"We need her, Cassandra." The other woman interjected, pushing the Seeker back.

But Aveline wasn't listening, not truly. She could only think of all the people she'd seen walking to attend the Conclave. All of the people only hoping to achieve peace in a time where it seemed so far out of reach, it wouldn't be achieved in their lifetime. And she was the only one who walked away from it. She just couldn't fathom it.

"I can't believe it…" She managed to say, her throat dry and her eyes beginning to water. "All of those people – dead."

The other woman turned back towards her while Cassandra resumed circling her like a hawk eyeing its prey. "Do you remember what happened? How this began?"

Truthfully, she remembered something, a little thing, it seemed more like a bad dream as she thought of it. "I remember – running." She admitted, delving deep into her psyche to decipher the few images she'd been left with. "_Things_ were chasing me, and then – a woman?"

"A woman?" The other woman questioned, pensive, doubtful.

Still, Aveline continued. "She reached out to me, but then…"

She hesitated to recall to rest of the memory, some part of her cried out, telling her that she shouldn't venture there, that the memory should remain hidden. That it would be better for her to stay ignorant. The images ran from her, leaping out of her reach. _Something's wrong._

"Go to the foreword camp, Leliana." The Seeker instructed, directing her colleague to the door. "I will take her to the rift."

Then, suddenly, while Leliana left, she kneeled down beside the prisoner, fidgeting with her cuffs.

"What _did_ happen?" She felt the need to ask, as if looking to the Seeker for answers. Though she was sure she would get nothing of the sort. Still, she had to try.

Aveline felt herself being lifted by the Seeker, helping her stand. And suddenly, her cuffs were removed. For a moment she was able to wring out her wrists, allowing them a moments rest before rope was wrapped around them once more.

"It-" Cassandra started, almost sighing, "will be easier to show you."

A bit forlorn, Aveline followed after the Seeker. Not knowing what she was in for her, she didn't hesitate. If what they were saying was true, if everyone who'd attended the Conclave was dead, that meant that Divine Justinia was dead as well. She wanted to see it with her own eyes. And as she ascended a flight of stairs, walked through the Chantry, and came out in the cold winter air, she felt uneasy. Looking around, she couldn't figure out why. Then she looked up, and lost her breath.

"That thing…?" She gasped, looking at the swirling green vortex over the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Spitting out green bursts down into the valley.

"We call it "the Breach." It's a massive rift into the world of demons that grows larger with each passing hour." Cassandra explained, staring up at the sky. "It's not the only such rift, just the largest. All were caused by the explosion at the Conclave."

Aveline could only blink at the Seeker as she turned around. "An explosion can do _that?_"

"This one did." Cassandra continued as she came closer, knife in hand. "Unless we act, the Breach may grow until it swallows the world."

"_AH!_" Aveline suddenly screamed, holding her hands up as if to defend herself from the Breach before collapsing to the ground. Her mark glowing and growing just as the rift did in the sky. The pain was brief, but almost to a point of being unbearable.

The Seeker kneeled down in front of her briskly, gesturing to her prisoner's hand. "Each time the Breach expands, your mark spreads… and it _is_ killing you. It may be the key to stopping this, but there isn't much time."

As she regained composure, as the pain faded, Aveline thought pensively. She looked down at her hand, rolling it over, still not quite believing what was happening. There was a mark, a mark that magically grew with the growth of a mysterious rift in the Veil, a mark that would surely kill her if they pondered on it for too long.

"You say-" She started, looking up into the Seeker's brown eyes. "You say it _may _be the key… to doing what?"

"Closing the Breach." She replied as straightforward as she could. "Whether that's possible is something we shall discover shortly. It is our only chance, however." She paused, peering down at the mark and then back up at the woman cursed to bear it. "And yours."

Gazing down at her mark once more, it was if Aveline looked to it, hoping for answers. But she knew that she was the only one who could make this decision. Die by the mysterious mark on her hand, and the Breach consumes the world, or try to use it to the best of her ability. Whether it would work or not, she knew she had to try.

"I understand." She concluded. Her gaze steeled with resolute purpose.

Cassandra almost seemed shocked. "Then-?"

Aveline couldn't help but crack a small smile. "I'll do what I can. Whatever it takes."

The Seeker almost appeared pleased with her decision, and yet still did well to hide it. Quickly she pulled the mage up, helping her stand and guiding her through the camp. Every eye was upon them, glaring, sneering, Aveline knew what they thought of her. She'd grown quite accustomed to the mistrusting looks, the hatred. While the Templar's in the Ostwick Circle weren't too forthright with their distaste, she remembered clearly how different the ones of Kirkwall were.

_She can't escape the glares, no matter how hard she tries. The young mage, recently overcoming her Harrowing, only did more to stoke the fires of fear and judgment. She's a true threat now. Nevermind that she overcame possession, defeated a demon and came out of the Fade victorious, it doesn't matter to the templar's. It doesn't matter that in all her days in the Kirkwall Circle, she only ever studied herbs and history, she might as well've ran from the circle, becoming an apostate and slaying templar's in her wake and using their deaths to full her powers as a blood mage._

_Yet, she still doesn't mind. She sits at a fountain, staring into the waters, watching the small fish swim around, nibbling at the copper coins children had tossed in. A fond smile creases her face as she raises her hand, moving it across the water and forcing it to flow with her movement. Ever since her Harrowing she has much better control over her magic, no longer fretting over the simplest spells._

_ "Da'len!" Someone whispers harshly, taking a seat next to her. It's Vera. "You aren't supposed to use magic outside of the Tower unless you're with the First Enchantress!"_

_ Looking up, she hadn't even registered that she'd been doing anything of the sort. Performing magic has become so simple for her, as simple as breathing. She never had to worry about accidentally casting a spell before, and it's taking some time for her to get used to the feeling. She looks to the walls, regarding a Templar giving her his utmost attention. An attention that would've probably ended somewhat sour if she hadn't noticed._

_ Wistfully, she sighs, leaning on Vera's shoulder and closing her eyes. "Abelas, lethallan. I wasn't really thinking."_

_ Despite her previous tone, Vera chuckles quietly. "I've known you long enough to know _that_ much. You never think, da'len."_

_ She gives a small snicker, knowing this to be true. "You're too cruel to me."_

_ "Only because I care about you, da'len." Vera admits wholeheartedly, kissing the top of her head. "You've always got your mind in the clouds, your heart is too pure! You've yet to really understand that these shems would gladly cut you down if you gave them half a reason to!"_

_ She sighs, knowing this to be perfectly true. "I know. That doesn't mean I have to treat them as they do me."_

_ Vera shakes her head in disbelief. "You truly are a gem, da'len. As well as a fool."_

_ Quietly, she laughs. She prefers to be the fool, to truly believe that everyone has good in them. Has something worth fighting for. Nevermind all of the times she's watched a brother or sister get cut down for even slicing their finger under the justification that they're practicing blood magic. She still doesn't believe that templar's are evil. She understands that they've seen some truly awful things, that some mages have caused them pain. That this is what they're trained for. She cannot resent them for that._

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><p><strong>Author's Note: This will probably be one of the only times that I really delve into the cut scenes this much, aside from the romance. From here on out it'll probably just be her addressing them towards the end. To keep it from getting redundant. And this seemed pretty redundant I felt. Sorry about that! Reviews are love. xoxo, Momma Love<strong>


	4. Chapter III

**The Little Sparrow**

**Chapter III**

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><p><em>Nightmares. Nightmares like she's never experienced before. Fear, pulsing through her like a sickness, plaguing her and stealing her mind. Images are fleeting, she can't grasp onto them. Something's pulling them from her, drawing them out, latching onto them and keeping them for their own selfish greed. Giving it power. Making it stronger. Its voice seems familiar, devious, sinister, coating her in darkness, but soon even that small memory is taken from her.<em>

* * *

><p><em>"We must seal it, quickly!"<em>

She began thrashing once more. Her convulsions from her previous slumber came back in full. Fading in and out of consciousness, Aveline tried to recall the last few moments before she had blacked out once more. She'd gone into the valley with Cassandra, then they came across a dwarf by the name of Varric, as well as Solas, the elven apostate that had been looking over her while she slept. They'd fought a multitude of demons, saved a squad on the mountain path. She'd felt much more secure, finally getting a staff within her grasp once more. Solas, he'd grabbed hold of her wrist and pulled it towards the rift, effectively sealing it and preventing demons from passing through. She didn't think it was possible, and yet, she did it.

_"If we don't hurry, the mark will consume her!"_

She couldn't help but shake at the thought. But after facing the rift at the Breach, after facing a pride demon, the mark no longer bothered her. It no longer pulsed, caused her to cry out in pain. She dared to hope that she was out of the frying pan. She dearly wished that she did what she'd meant to do. That Thedas was safe from the Breach and she could head for Redcliffe, seek refuge, aid the rebel mages as best she could, and perhaps feel secure once more.

"It's been three days, I don't understand why she still sleeps!"

Impatient and frustrated, Seeker Cassandra paced the length of the war room, ignoring Sister Leliana's looks, Commander Cullen's efforts to stop her movements, Ambassador Montilyet's attempts to calm her, and resisting the urge to march into the mage's quarters and shake her awake. Or at least attempting to, again. She'd gotten a few stern words from Solas the last time she tried it.

"There's still plenty to do, Cassandra." The commander chastised her, dragging his fingers across the map. "We don't need her to be awake at this exact moment."

"She couldn't close the Breach." She decided to remind him, practically snarling. "Solas says that the mark isn't powerful enough, at this point in time. We need to pour enough magic into it and hopefully-"

"And you think that's a good idea?" The commander interrupted, shaking his head in disagreement. "How are we to know if overpowering the mark will do any good? It could simply just make the whole situation worse. It would be best to simply let the healers watch over her, as they have been."

Clearly unhappy with his decision, the Seeker stormed off, deciding to get some air before she did something she'd regret. As she often did. Back in the war room, Leliana gave the commander a weary look, sighing and crossing her arms in slight irritation.

"I forgot how easily she gets like this." She said laboriously, dragging at every word. "I'll go see what I can do."

"And I'm going to return to my office." The ambassador interjected, examining her papers and making for the door with her colleague. "Should the prisoner awaken, or should Cassandra calm down, you know where to find me."

The commander bowed a bit as they left, an old habit of his. Sighing a bit himself, he walked around the war table, examining the troops positions, their numbers, and wondering how they were ever going to pull off what the Seeker had told him back in the Free Marches.

_Reviving the Inquisition of old._ He couldn't help but laugh to himself. _It sounded so simple when she came to me in Kirkwall. Perhaps I am more of a fool than I thought._

He didn't regret his decision to join the Seeker, just the events that'd transpired after arriving in Haven. He couldn't've expected it. No one could. They were only to act if the Conclave failed. The Inquisition was supposed to be a last resort. And yet they found it being the _only_ resort. With a young woman falling out of the Fade, demons spilling out behind her, Maker only knew what was in store for them.

Then, suddenly, the door to the war room opened and Cullen looked up to see if Cassandra or Leliana had returned. But it was neither. It was someone he'd only caught a glimpse of in the valley. Only for a moment. _She was fighting the demons…_ _A soldier, perhaps?_

"Can I help you?" He asked, making his way around the table and putting himself in front of her.

"I was told to speak with Seeker Cassandra, is she here?" She said assuredly, looking around, examining her surroundings.

The commander nodded slowly, his arm resting on the hilt of his sword. "Yes - well, she was. She's just stepped out for a bit. Is there anything I can help you with in the meantime?"

"I'm not sure." She admitted, scratching her chin. "I was told she wanted to see me as soon as I woke."

_As soon as she woke- oh sweet Maker. _"You're the prisoner." He exasperated, putting his forehead into his palm. "I'm sorry I-I didn't recognise you."

Surprisingly, she let out a small chuckle. "Truthfully, I'd hoped to have shed that title."

"My apologies, force of habit." He lamented, bowing slightly. "I'll go and retrieve her."

"No no no." She resisted, waving her hands and trying to stop him. "You're probably busy, I don't want to trouble you."

"It's no bother, I-"

Still, she laughed quietly. "Really, I'm only walking out the way I came. But thank you."

She bowed, bidding the commander farewell as she left the war room as quietly and as suddenly as she arrived. Left alone once more, Cullen found himself staring at the spot where she had stood, not for any reason aside from a slight confusion. He couldn't really grasp how unremarkable she seemed to be. Hearing the stories, how she was guided out of the Fade by Andraste, made him almost believe that she'd have some divine presence. Of course he didn't assumed she would glow and be led around by Andraste herself.

But she was just a regular girl. It seemed impossible, but that's what she was. And as she left the Chantry, no one seemed to know who she was either. The woman they were referring to as the "Herald of Andraste". They were blissfully unaware. She simply checked the tents, to see if Seeker Cassandra was among them. For perhaps the last time in her life she was just – Aveline.

_"Aveline!"_

_ The young mage turns around quickly to the call of her name. Vera is motioning for her from around a corner, a devious spark in her eyes. She knows that can only mean trouble, and still she approaches her carefully._

_ "Vera what are you-"_

_ She's interrupted as Vera slips a hand over her mouth and pulls her out of view of the guards. Eyeing her friend quizzically, she doesn't resist, instead gazes into her eyes, wondering what to expect._

_ Pulling something out of her pocket, Vera smiles. "I got this from the kitchens. They're meant for the Knight-Commander, cream puffs. She loves these things."_

_ "Vera!" She laughs yet whispers, pushing the desserts down whilst peering over her shoulder. "You're going to get me in trouble! Again!"_

_ "Oh what's life in the Circle if you don't live a little!" Vera winks, bringing the pastry up to the mage's mouth. "C'mon, just try it. I doubt you'll ever taste anything this good from the kitchens without bending the rules a bit."_

_ "You say it as though you've already tried them." She chastises slightly as she eyes Vera._

_ The elf shrugs playfully, her smirk never wavering. "Once or twice, maybe."_

_ "I'm not going to be saving you from the wrath of the templar's this time." She bluffs, a kind smile colouring her face._

_ "Like they could catch me." Vera scoffs, practically forcing her to eat the cream puff. "Now eat this before I chuck it at Willis!"_

_ Laughing, she accepts the cream puff, placing it in her mouth and brining her hand to her chin, feeling the filling oozing out. Trying to keep the dessert in her mouth, she almost laughs, watching Vera experience the same exact problem and glaring at her all the while._

_ "What're you two doing back there?" Someone asks, innocently enough._

_ They don't know if it's a templar, a servant, a mage, or what, but the two takeoff running, trying desperately not to choke on their meal or trip over their hems. Every now and then, they turn to each other, cream dabbed on the corner of their mouths, and they can't help but smile._

Aveline smiled, as she recalled the memory. Running through the halls of the manor, causing mischief or helping Vera run from it, disrupting lessons from time to time with their antics. She'd always miss the circle if it was just for the sense of nostalgia. It wasn't just imprisonment or servitude. Not always. She was allowed certain freedoms thanks to the word of the First Enchantress.

Lost in her own thoughts, she almost missed Cassandra returning to the Chantry. So she quickly followed, picking up her pace to stop the door before it closed. The Seeker regarded her, almost startled, but eager to get talks underway. So they both ventured back into the war room, and that's when the Inquisition's efforts truly began.

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><p><strong>Author's Note: Thank you seerblood for the input! I'm glad that Aveline's past is interesting, the last chapter was a one time deal with the dialogue, because it was a bore to write myself. I might actually go back and change it. So, no, you ain't trippin'. I really do appreciate any sort of feedback. And in this chapter I felt like I wrote Cullen fairly well? I hope I did because the POV of this story isn't going to sit on one person, as you've already seen. And in other news, Vera always puts a smile on my face. Reviews are love! xoxo, Momma Love<strong>


	5. Chapter IV

**The Little Sparrow**

**Chapter IV**

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><p><em>Miraculously, disastrously, her life changes forever. The "Herald of Andraste". It's strange. Her mind wanders, she can't fully grasp what they're implying. A young mage, cast from the Fade by the bride of the Maker. She can seal the rifts, they realise, and save Thedas from the tear in the sky. She's not used to the trust, but she likes it. She's not used to the expectations, and she fears it. She swears not to fail. Not a second time. She's failed too many already.<em>

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><p>The Chantry was mostly silent. After the Herald left for the Hinterlands, everyone seemed to calm down. The people of Haven no longer demanded her head. Well, at least they didn't do so out loud. That was all the advisors of the Inquisition could really ask for. They knew perfectly well that the evidence against the young Trevelyan was damning. She could be executed in Val Royeux at the drop of a pin. They were optimistic, not foolish.<p>

For days, people had been flocking to Haven. Ever since the Herald left, her reputation across Ferelden had spread. And, to Ambassador Montilyet's pleasure, the unified message was a positive one. A mage, delivering the message of Andraste, it wouldn't be a welcome notion to most. Especially after the events that transpired at Kirkwall. It was reassuring to hear that the people of Thedas were not as adverse to the idea as one would think. Maker only knew what Orlais made of her. The ambassador would have to be sure to pay attention to the courts. Not that she wasn't already.

"Has Leliana had any word from the Herald?" Commander Cullen asked as they ran into each other that morning.

The ambassador shook her head. "No. Apart from the refugees we're receiving, there's no news of her efforts beyond what they themselves have brought."

"I can't imagine it takes someone this long to venture to the Crossroads with a message." He sighed, scratching the back of his neck and gripping the hilt of his sword. "Perhaps we should've sent some of Leliana's people instead."

Montilyet chuckled delicately into her hand, finding the commander awfully amusing in that moment. "You know as well as I that her spies would not have had the same effect across the Frostbacks as the Herald has. For one, everyone knows who she is. For some, she's a beacon of hope, to others, she's a threatening adversary. She cannot be ignored, whatever the case."

The commander let out a reluctant laugh, knowing what she said to be perfectly true. "Point taken. It's just – it's making me nervous. The templar and mage fighting has ripped Ferelden apart just as the Blight did. Who's to say she isn't caught in the middle?"

"She most surely is." The ambassador concurred, scribbling something down absentmindedly. "You've heard what the refugees have been gossiping about."

It was true. The news of the Herald was that of a compassionate mage, roaming the countryside and righting the wrongs her brothers and sisters had wrought onto the already troubled land. Promises of warm blankets, food, healers, Cullen had mostly written it off as pure speculation. The over exaggerations of storytellers, a foolish thing to believe.

And yet, he did.

"There's word from the Herald." A scout told the two advisors, approaching them swiftly. "Sister Leliana wishes to meet with you in the war room."

"Finally." The commander sighed as if a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

They ventured into the Chantry, heading straight for the war room, both eager to receive the news. Pushing open the door, they regarded Leliana who was smiling down at a report in her hand.

"Good news, I take it?" Cullen asked, making for the spymaster and peering over her shoulder.

Leliana chuckled quietly. "The Herald sure does have an odd way of writing a report."

The commander quirked a brow at his associate, not quite understanding what she meant. She handed the slip of parchment over to him, careful to note the charred edges, allowing him to glance it over.

_Dear Inquisition,_

_ Did you know that there's a dragon in the Hinterlands? Would've liked to have known that before I went searching for red lyrium._

_ Aveline_

He couldn't believe his eyes. Two lines. Giving no solid report or any inclination to her position or her progress other than the fact that there's a dragon somewhere in the Hinterlands. It was so unheard of. And finding it so absolutely absurd, he couldn't help but laugh. Even though it gave them no update on her status at the Crossroads, it made him feel a bit more at ease.

"There's another report here from Cassandra." Leliana remarked, offering another letter to him. "I assume this one will be a bit more telling than the Herald's."

_Leliana,_

_ We've secured aid from Mother Giselle. And at the behest of the Herald, we've also eliminated both the apostate and templar camps in Witchwood and along the West Road respectively. The refugees at the Crossroads will be much safer now, and you've probably already received several wishing to help. All reported rifts have been sealed, Master Dennet's allowed us his stable, as well as his expertise, and we've discovered a clan of Carta in Valammar that's been tracking our movements. We will address this matter after we return in a few days._

_ Cassandra_

"Good." Cullen stated, finishing off the letter with a nod and handing it over to Josephine, who was too busy chuckling at Aveline's report to really notice. He smiled, recalling the ridiculous nature of it.

"According to my scouts, they should be back in Haven by nightfall." Leliana informed the two, clasping her hands behind her back. "Mother Giselle has actually just arrived herself with a few of the faithful. We should meet her as soon as possible."

The other advisors agreed, nodding and following the spymaster back out into the Chantry and out into Haven. As each of them walked through the camp, they stole collective glances at the Breach. Pulsing green and casting them all in an eerie light. The closeness of it spurred them on, giving them the determination to press forward, to heal the wounds that it left on the land. It was their greatest motivation, and quite possibly a prelude of their deaths.

Down the mountainside, Aveline and the others were regarding the sky with the same amount of trepidation, fear, and courage. She raises her hand into view, imagining the mark underneath her leather gloves. Her greatest power. The only hope for Thedas. Such a burden should not be left onto anyone's shoulders, but she promised to bear it well.

"Thinking about it again, are you?" Varric asked, coming up on her right.

She chuckled, clenching her fist and dropping it to her side. "It's hard not to think about. It almost killed me."

The dwarf offered her a kind smile. "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, right? Whoever said that clearly has never taken a good shot to the knee."

With that little quip, Aveline let out an honest laugh. "Probably not." Then she paused, giving Varric an affectionate look. "Thank you, though."

"For what?" He asked, feigning ignorance with a coy smile. "I didn't do anything."

And at that last word he pushed forward, leaving her behind him to chuckle quietly to herself. They both kept their smiles, appreciating the small gestures they did for one another. In their brief travels, Varric was the only one capable of making her momentarily forget that the whole world could fall to ruin if she didn't succeed. Solas spoke to her of the Fade, and she readily asked questions about it. While her Harrowing had been only slightly traumatising, she did enjoy dreaming in the Fade, granted she was careful.

She wasn't like most of her brothers and sisters. While in the Fade, she'd come across a spirit that aided her in her journey and ever since she'd learned the difference between their demonic counterparts. And while she did face a few demons, she learned how to overcome them. By her nature, she wasn't prideful, or greedy, or enraged. It made it hard for those such demons to sink their teeth in her. It was precisely why those weren't the demons trying to corrupt her. They learned. They knew.

_The feeling of floating, being above everything that troubles you, soaring, not knowing when you'll reach ground, and not particularly caring. Feeling like you can touch the sky, skim your fingers through a cloud and fall into glorious sleep. That's what it felt like to break through into the Fade for her. A moment of pure and complete clarity. Like a breath of fresh air. Peaceful._

_ But then she wakes up._

_ Lifting her head from the cold, damp, ground, she struggles to see. Everything bathed in an eerie green light, she has a hard time focusing on anything presented to her. It's all distorted, not that she can even keep her eyes still enough to properly identify anything she sees. She can make out some floating rocks in the distance, some running water to her left, and a circle made of fire. Perhaps there are some rock formations beside her, perhaps they're gurts. By their constant movement, they could very well be one of the beasts._

_ Gingerly she stands, rubbing her head and trying to orient herself. She squints her eyes as she peers up towards the sky, using her hand to block out some of the light streaming into her eyes. She quickly regards its colour. Her breath hitches in her throat. It's green. Not blue like she's known all her life. _

_She's in the Fade. She's painstakingly aware to that now. Suddenly her throat becomes dry, and she almost reaches for the running water she'd seen earlier when she stops herself. This is her first time venturing into the Fade. Still she knows better than to interact in the stirrings around her more than she has to._

_ Clutching her sides, she moves forward. She almost questions the sudden drop in temperature, but she remembers what she'd been taught of the Fade. A realm ruled by imagination. Whatever its inhabitants wish, the Fade will reflect. She lets out a weak chuckle. Chastising herself for not knowing more fire spells as she shivers and her breath turns cold._

_ There isn't much to the Fade, she realises. At least, not to her. Her surroundings do not change as she ventures deeper and deeper into the mysterious realm of spirits and demons. She doesn't know what to do. The Harrowing is different for everyone. She has no idea who she'll come across. And perhaps that is for the better_

"Ohoho. What have we here?"

_She turns briskly at the sound of the voice, though she can see no one. Still she looks, wondering what sort of demon has fallen into her lap. Or her into theirs. Perhaps one of rage, or pride. Two entities she isn't quite so knowledgeable of. She specialises in healing magic, in summoning barriers and planting wards. _Perhaps I should've paid more attention in my lessons of the Fade.

"A pretty little thing, come to play?"

_Again the voice. She turns again desperate to see the face of the creature whispering in her ear. To see that whatever monster stands before her and to face it willingly, on her terms. But she knows that she isn't on her terms. Or else she wouldn't even be here._

"Such a beautiful face, such a promising future, I wonder if you'd be worth stealing."

Stealing? _She asks herself. Carefully, she listens to the demon, trying to decipher who she's facing._

"I could return home to your parents, give them the daughter they've always dreamed of, always wanted, were afraid of losing. Hide away your magic and become everything they'd dreamed of. Don't you think that'd make them happier beyond belief?"

It wants to be me? _She continues to replay in her head, she's heard of such a demon as this. A demon of eternal wanting. It's rare to even hear of such a sighting in the Free Marches. They blend in too easily, stealing faces and destroying lives with their greed._

"If only you were sent here for me." _The voice chuckled suddenly_. "I could have fun with your face."

_She can't help but freeze up a little at what it's said. She simply wants to get this Harrowing over with. Morph into an abomination and be quickly struck down by the templars. These games she's playing, they're only prolonging her suffering. And if Envy isn't the demon that's laid claim to her, then she wonders what sort of demon could be worse._

_ Resigning herself again to her fate, she decides to remain where she is, sitting on the almost damp ground and clutching her knees to her chest. She decides it best to allow the Harrowing to take too long and be met with the same gruesome outcome. Perhaps that's better. Then her family won't have to live with the fact that their only daughter had fallen victim to a demon. Had proven too weak to fend off their damning touch._

_ "My child, why do you linger?"_

_ Another voice stirs her from her thoughts. Wondering which monstrosity has come for her next, she snaps her head up quickly, half expecting to see nothing, but instead sees a man bathed in a white light, looking down at her quizzically._

_ When she does not respond, he continues. "There are many horrors in this place, they'll still come even if you stay still."_

_ Clearing her dry throat, she buries her face into her knees. "Of course, you're here aren't you? Just get it over with."_

_ The sudden soft touch against her hair startles her. She looks up again to see the man has kneeled down in front of her. He's gently caressing her hair as if trying to soothe her. "My child, you have far too little faith in yourself. I know you can persevere, face the demon that's set their eyes on you, return home to your friends, live to see another day."_

_ "I can't tell if you're trying to trick me or if you're just trying to tempt me yourself." She admits, looking away from the man and sighing deeply, her tone shaky. She'll probably start to cry soon. And she can only imagine what sort of demon that will summon._

_ "You are scared. Frightened. Full of despair." He continues, every world instilling something odd inside of her, something powerful. "She will sense it. You must not let her take root. She's been following you since you arrived. She can sense your resolve weakening._

_ She chokes out a sob, trying to burrow deeper into herself. "I just want this to be over! They can kill me I don't care!"_

_ "No, you cannot think this." He tells her, tilting her chin up to him. "You _must_ press on. You can succeed, you can prevail. But you must believe that you can. You must see past these illusions, these tricks meant only to weaken you. You must try, you must _hope_."_

She's never told anyone about the spirit. The mere presence of one is almost unheard of. Like wisdom, it stays hidden, only coming forth to those it feels safe to do so. So easily it's corrupted, doubted. And the result that comes from the rejection of hope, Aveline preferred that it stayed away. It wasn't worth the small chance it would thrive in this world. Not at all.

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><p><strong>Author's Note: This flashback actually takes place immediately after the one mentioned in Chapter I. Sorry last chapter was short ^^; I can range from either 1,000 to 10,000 words, depending on how much I feel can be covered at the time. These chapters are probably going to range on the shorter side, at least for now. We'll see, though. 2,000 - 3,000 isn't so bad, right? Anyways, enjoy! Reviews are love! xoxo, Momma Love<strong>


	6. Chapter V

**The Little Sparrow**

**Chapter V**

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><p><em>Around each corner, someone who needs help. She can't resist them. Quickly, she comes to their aid. She doesn't quite understand herself. But she runs to them, helps them, heals them. She wants others to know that she isn't evil. That magic can be used for good. So she fights, she fights and she runs. She hurts, she always hurts, but she fights.<em>

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><p>The Herald returned to Haven at nightfall, true to Leliana's word. Tired, a bit lethargic, she still pressed forward even after the weeks without a moments rest when she saw the familiar silhouette of Haven in the distance. She came through the gate last, behind her companions, almost looked over by the scouts as she passed. <em>If only<em>.

"Your worship." One greeted, crossing his hand over his chest, the salute of the Inquisition. "Sister Leliana wishes to speak with you and Seeker Cassandra at once."

_No rest for the wicked._ She thought to herself with a bit of a laugh, though nodding her accordance. "Understood. If you could let them know that I'll be in the tavern, I'd be most grateful. They're even welcome to join me if they're willing to pay."

The scout smiled briefly at her light quip before saluting her once more and running back to the Chantry. Alone, Aveline inhaled the cold winter air, hoping no one would come looking for her in that moment. Not only was she exhausted beyond belief, she was absolutely starving. A slight rumbling in her stomach gave way to that. Varric had noted it during their trek through the Frostbacks.

But as she walked through Haven, no one pulled her aside, no one leered at her, no one shouted obscenities at her, barely anyone even looked her way. Never had she ever truly appreciated her aura. Once her mentor described it as peaceful, that people often ignored her because she wasn't even considered to be a threat. It would've been useful, if she'd trained under any other school of magic. She had refused to learn anything more than healing magic before her Harrowing. She hated violence, yet understood the importance and necessity of it. Especially after facing demonic possession.

Quietly, she slipped into the tavern, approaching Flissa with a smile and sitting down at the bar. She sat there for a moment, enjoying the bard's songs and listening to the villagers talk about more mundane occurrences. A young woman was having an issue of nugs following her wherever she went. Never mind that a young man chuckled in the background, having put feed in her pouch after cutting a small hole in it, causing it to spill out and allowing the nugs to eat happily as they chased after her.

"Oh!" Flissa exclaimed, finally taking notice of the mage despite making eye contact a moment before. "I didn't see ya there! What can I get ya?"

She chuckled quietly, placing a few coppers in front of her. "Stew would be lovely, thank you."

The barkeep nodded, sliding the coins into her hand and setting a bowl in front of her patron. "Be ready in a minute."

"Thank you." Aveline said graciously, bowing her head a bit and continuing to listen to the music ringing out through The Singing Maiden.

A few minutes passed and more people filed into the tavern, weary from training or paperwork or dealing with the masses or whatever the Inquisition required of them. Among them was the commander. He was to meet a few of his fellow templars for a drink after they finished up for the day. Quietly, he chastised himself. He was no longer with the Order and he had a hard time remembering it.

He approached the bar, leaning on it instead of sitting, nodding towards Flissa as she served another patron sitting beside him before hurrying out onto the floor with a plate of tankards. He wasn't in a hurry, so he had no problem waiting. In fact, he almost preferred it. Slowly, he inhaled deeply, enjoying the change in venue from the barracks or the training yard.

Losing himself in Maryden's song, he barely noticed that it was the Herald sitting beside him enjoying her meal. He hadn't even known that she'd returned. At that moment she was invested in her stew, taking a bite of bread and sipping at her drink. He felt uneasy, and perhaps a bit awkward, he wasn't sure if he should approach her or not.

Truthfully, he wanted to. She was a mage, he was a former templar. She used to live in the Circle of Ostwick before they rebelled with the rest of Thedas. He wanted to gage her opinions on the Order, see if she was afraid of them, hateful, distrusting. Perhaps clear up any misconceptions, if there were any within her. He felt like he was trying to make up for his past, and maybe he was, but he still wanted to know.

"Lady Trevelyan?" He asked tentatively, inching closer to her.

Caught by surprise, and in mid bite, she looking up at the commander, her mouth full of stew and bread. Quickly she brought her hand to her mouth and turned away from him, perhaps embarrassed by the state he caught her in. He was about to apologise, ask her if she wanted him to go, when she raised a finger to him, signaling that she'd only be a moment longer

He had to admit, it was a bit endearing, seeing her so flustered. Made her seem less like the Herald of Andraste and more like woman she really was.

"My apologies, commander." She noted, turning back towards him after taking a long swig of her drink, chuckling. "It seems that you caught me at a bad moment."

Quietly, chortling a bit himself, he sat down beside her. "I should be the one apologising. I didn't mean to catch by surprise like that."

She offered him a kind smile, pushing her bowl away just slightly. "That's alright. Can I help you with anything?" Before he could open his mouth, she stopped him. "Wait, if it's anything to do with the Inquisition I've promptly put all of those talks on hold."

He couldn't help but laugh. "No, I'm sure you've had enough of the Inquisition for one day."

"Perhaps." She agreed, absentmindedly stirring her stew. "Unfortunately I'll be having to deal with you and the rest of this Inquisition business for months to come."

Her tone was dry, her expression flat, and for a moment the commander thought she was being serious. He thought he was disturbing her. But as her lip curled, giving him a coy smirk, he shook his head and laughed. "That was most cruel, Herald."

"Apologies, commander." She chuckled, not sounding sorry in the slightest. "Perhaps Varric is influencing my humour, I simply couldn't resist."

Cullen almost groaned, still with a smile on his face. "I sorely hope not. I can hardly stand the dwarf as it is. He bothers me both day and night. Claiming I spend too much time with a serious look on my face. I don't know how I'll survive if they're to be two of them roaming around camp."

Aveline returned his smile with her own, her blue eyes almost sparkling. "I'm sure it wouldn't be that bad. And I'm sure you didn't sit beside me just for me to tease you."

He nodded, ordering a drink from Flissa and turning back to the Herald. "I wanted to ask you about your life in the Circle."

"Oh?" She returned, genuinely curious. "May I ask why?"

"I was a templar in Kirkwall for many years, and Ferelden before that." He informed her. "I served in the Circle and I wanted to know if there would be-" He stammered a bit, not sure how to word the question he wished to ask.

That was alright, since she seemed to understand what he was trying to get across. "You want to know what I think of the Order."

"Y-yes." He admitted, flustered. "You're a mage and I wanted to be sure that there wasn't any sour feelings left over from your time in the Circle. Not every templar is like what you've since in the Hinterlands."

Surprisingly, Aveline chuckled. "I'll let you know now that I never resented templars. I was living quite happily in Ostwick until the Circles rebelled. I even could call some of them my friends."

The commander had to admit, he hadn't expected that sort of response. "That is – I've never known a mage to think that way. So you are _not _an apostate?"

"Well, I am, we all are. Though not by our choice. There were things I didn't approve of while I was in the Circle, don't get me wrong." She reiterated, taking a drink. "But they were simply doing their job, following orders. I cannot hold that against them. So I made the best of my time there."

Cullen couldn't help but smile. The Herald proved to be a kind woman. Understanding. It was a refreshing notion. "I'm glad to hear your experience in the Circle was a good one."

"Oh, no, it wasn't. Not really." She said, looking up at Flissa as she placed the commander's drink in front of him. "That doesn't mean I have to dwell on it or hate the templars because of it."

"I'm sorry-" The commander hesitated, peering into his drink. "I didn't mean to-"

"It's alright!" She assured him, smiling and putting a hand on his shoulder. "The important thing is that we're both here now, isn't it? Mages and templars working together, fighting for a common cause, the start of something better for the both of us."

He scoffed, a bit skeptical. "You apparently haven't heard the fighting that goes on in the barracks. It seems that you and I are an exception to the rule."

"Then, here's to us." She offered, raising her glass. "The exceptions."

Cullen chuckled, knocking her glass with his own. "And to closing the Breach."

She rolled her eyes in that moment, setting her drink down and chuckling. "I thought I said I was putting all Inquisition related discussions on hold for the night."

He laughed quietly into his hand. "My apologies. It just slipped out."

"You're forgiven." She allowed him, her grin wavering on devilishness. "Just this once."

"Commander!" Someone suddenly shouted from across the tavern, making their way for the two. "Started without us, did you?"

Cullen turned at the familiar voice, one of his fellow templars, Nathanial. "If you and the others hadn't kept me waiting then perhaps that wouldn't've been necessary."

That's when the soldier directed his attention towards the Herald, giving her a coy smirk. "I see you've had some good company, at least. What's your name, lass?"

The commander almost chastised his comrade. _How could he not recognise the Herald?_ But before he got a chance to, she responded, simply smiling up at the soldier. "Aveline, it's a pleasure."

"I'm sure." He grinned, nudging Cullen in the side. "This guy's about as interesting as a wet blanket!"

Aveline couldn't help but laugh, bringing her hand to her mouth and watching the commander's face contort into a frown. "It wasn't so bad, I assure you."

"No need to be polite on his account-"

"That's enough, Nathanial." Cullen interrupted, placing his hand over his subordinate's mouth and smiling kindly at the Herald. "We'll be taking our leave. It was nice to have this chat, Lady Trevelyan."

She nodded her agreement as she watched the two men relocate to another part of the tavern where a group of templars was waiting for them. Halfway there, though, Nathanial turned around, his mouth fluttering open and shut as he probably surmised that he'd actually been talking to the woman that'd been guided out of the Fade by Andraste herself. Aveline couldn't stop the chuckle that bubbled past her lips. She wasn't used to being treated with such reverence, it would take a while to get used to it.

_She's wandering the halls of the manor, as she often does. Regarding the paintings she's passed time and time again, she can feel eyes on her. It's not as if she isn't accustomed to being watched, but the gaze she feels is not the usual cold stare from the guards, but something much more heated. She doesn't know what to expect. Yet she knows it won't be good._

_ "Excuse me, Aveline, is it?"_

_ She turns, surprised. It isn't the one who's been watching her, but a young apprentice. A young man she remembers to be Harper. Regarding him she barely notices someone down the hall, they turn the corner quickly, and she feels the hostile energy dissipate. She didn't see who it was, but it won't be the last time she feels their gaze boring holes into her._

_ Quickly she forgets the presence, smiling up at the man who asked for her attention. "Yes, and you're Harper, are you not?"_

_ He nods, his eyes casting a sort of warmth into the young woman. "Yeah! I didn't know you knew who I was!"_

_ She chuckles at his excitement, bring her hand to her mouth. "Whenever someone comes from another Circle, we tend to remember them."_

_ "Oh, right." He laughs nervously, scratching the back of his neck. "I came from Ostwick."_

Really? _She thinks, smiling happily. "What's it like there? Is Lydia still the First Enchantress?"_

_ He nods, blushing a bit for reasons she isn't quite sure of. "She told me about you before I came here. You're from Ostwick too, right?"_

_ "Indeed." She confirms, recalling her parents and the rest of the House of Trevelyan. They hid her away in Kirkwall, only allowing her to return home for their many balls, for the sake of image. Even the templars have no idea who she really is. She's simply Aveline. The Knight-Commander knows, those who keep watch over her phylactery know, otherwise her identity is unknown to the others beyond her first name and her status as a mage._

_ Realising that she's ignoring the young apprentice, she shakes her head of the past and she smiles up at him. He returns the look kindly before looking away, blushing. The two walk down the corridor, talking about Ostwick like fast friends, enjoying each other's company, not even noticing that someone's eyeing them once more. For what possible reason, neither know. But it isn't good._

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: More awkwardness between Cullen and Aveline. Just because I can and I think that awkward romance is great romance~ Reviews are love! xoxo, Momma Love<strong>


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